Gospel Story Finder

We are grateful for the beautiful publication the Liahona, which we eagerly receive each month and make the most of as a family. In the July 2006 issue, for example, we enjoyed great articles that helped us prepare our son for baptism and confirmation. The high-quality photography catches the attention of our little girl, who does not yet know how to read but can understand visual messages. On a Sunday afternoon we played “Sunday Box: Pencil Spin” and had a very good time. Family bonds were strengthened.Cazorla family, Spain

This is not your basic story of a super-achieving LDS family where everyone gets straight A pluses, wins international symphony competitions, trains for the Olympics, and trudges ten miles through the snow to get to seminary every morning. No. This is the story of a family that simply steps up to the plate and swings, regardless of the challenges they face.
Challenges don’t intimidate the Drummonds. They never have. When Heather decided she wanted to go out for baseball, she didn’t think twice about the fact that there are no girls’ teams in her area. Today the petite 15-year-old with long dark hair and bangs is the only girl playing on boys’ teams in her league, and she’s doing pretty well.
Then there’s tall, thin, 17-year-old Christopher. He didn’t let the fact that millions of boys all over the country dream of being a batboy for a professional baseball team stop him. He went right up to the personnel office of the California Angels, applied, and landed the position. It wasn’t half as difficult as he thought it would be.
Heather and Christopher take their cue from their father, Tom Drummond, who, when he got custody of his two children over 12 years ago, decided he would be the best parent he could be, with or without the support of a wife. And later, when he was introduced to the Church, he decided to take on the challenges and blessings of membership and hopefully share them with his children.
Heather was the first one to follow his lead. “I took the discussions and started going to church with my dad,” she said. “I knew some of the girls at church who played on my soccer team, and they were really nice. Everybody seemed really nice there, and joining the Church just seemed like the right thing to do.”
Christopher took a little longer. “A couple of sets of missionaries taught me, and I just didn’t know about it. But then one came along who helped me see everything was right in the Church. He talked baseball, and he showed me things in the scriptures too, and I knew. Then my dad baptized me.”
By now, it would be impossible not to note that sports, baseball in particular, play a big part in the Drummonds’ lives. Heather and Christopher have both been playing since they were about three years old, and since they live in southern California, they’re able to play in leagues all year round. Tom, a self-employed architect, makes it to almost every single game.
Baseball has formed a strong bond in their lives, even though Christopher takes some flak because his sister is the only girl playing on a boys’ team in their league—“You better watch out, Christopher. Your little sister’s gonna take your place!” And Heather says she doesn’t see a lot of her brother because he’s usually either working at Anaheim stadium or playing ball. Baseball is still a common interest that ties the family together, when they could be going in some very different directions.
When the gospel came into their lives about four years ago, it brought an even stronger bond. There’s a lot more to share now than box scores and batting averages. They share prayer, church meetings, scriptures, and a concept of the eternal unit their family is. “We have family home evening,” says Christopher. “I really like that. We talk or read or play games. Sometimes we go out to dinner or a movie or over to another family’s house. That’s a really good thing.”
The Drummonds are not the most outspoken kids in the world. They’re doers rather than talkers. But they will open up if you ask. Heather, for example, will tell you that she doesn’t feel short-changed by not growing up with a mother. “I’ve lived with guys all my life, so I do the things they do,” she says. “But I also do girl things. My best friends are girls. I don’t think growing up only with guys has hurt me.” Heather has her own ways of asserting her femininity. In the dugout, for example, even though she tucks her long brown hair up under her cap and wears a bulky uniform like the rest of the players, you can’t miss her because she’s the one wearing pink lipstick. And sometimes, when the other players lose their tempers and start swearing, they’re quickly reminded that a girl is present when Heather tells them, “Hey—watch your language!” And, she says, “They usually apologize.”
“Some of the guys I play with are kind of mean,” says Heather. “They say the only reason I’m on the team is because the coach doesn’t know how to cut a girl. I have to play extra hard to overcome that. I’ve been tempted to quit, but when I am, I just tell myself I have to stick in there, because everyone would think I can’t handle it. I can handle it,” she says with conviction, and you don’t doubt her.
When prodded, Christopher will tell you some of his deeper feelings, too. Things like his biggest fear about serving a mission is not that it will break up his baseball career, but that he will never know enough about the gospel to teach it to other people. “Missionaries know so much,” he says. He seems relieved to learn that the Spirit blesses missionaries with special knowledge as they strive to learn and grow.
Surprisingly enough, he’ll also tell you that working with some of the greatest baseball players in the world, and even, on occasion, getting to travel with the team, is not as big a deal as some people would think. “Oh, the players are really nice and everything—especially Wally Joyner—he’s Mormon too. But it’s just a basic, normal job. I’m paid by the hour, minimum wage. The food is good though. We get to eat with the players, and the Angels have one of the best chefs in professional baseball.” Still, Christopher says he likes the ballpark hotdogs about the best.
As involved as the Drummonds are in sports, you might think their grades would suffer a bit. But not so. “They’re both on the honor roll,” says their dad. “They have to maintain B averages. That’s my rule. And no underwater basketweaving or sandwich making courses, either.” He then goes on to recite their schedules—solid, difficult classes every one, with the exception of baseball, which the Drummonds take very seriously. Of course, since Tom made the rules, he’s always there to help his kids accomplish them. It’s not uncommon to find the family studying together in the evenings.
The Drummonds just seem to look right through challenges. They’re not afraid to take on demanding classes, to be the only girl on local baseball teams, to work with professional baseball players, or to join a church that outlines a brand-new lifestyle. Quietly, solidly, without a lot of fanfare or hype, they step up to the plate and take their swings at the good pitches that come their way.

Camping is not my thing.
Which is why everyone who knew me was surprised when I, along with a good friend, signed up for a weekend camping trip to Colorado, USA, with a bunch of strangers for no reason other than that I wanted to get out of my comfort zone and feel a little more adventurous.
It was about 3 a.m. the first night when it started pouring rain. I stared up at the paper-thin walls of my tent, mentally begging them to keep me dry and sincerely regretting my decision to come. I spent the rest of the trip enjoying the views but mostly trying not to embarrass myself; I was less outdoorsy than most of the people I was traveling with, and I worried constantly that I would look incompetent.
On the final night of the trip, my friend and I ventured outside to try to enjoy the nature that we’d traveled so far to see. As we stood outside our tent, my friend surprised me with her astronomy knowledge, pointing out Taurus, the Pleiades, and Cassiopeia, tracing her finger along the sky as she told me stories about the clusters of stars. It was a beautiful, peaceful moment.
The longer we stood there, heads tipped back, the more I forgot about my own discomfort. Looking up at the vast, starry sky was humbling. For probably the first time during that trip, I was able to fully appreciate something beautiful instead of worrying about myself and getting caught up in my own silly pride.
I felt the difference between these two feelings on that camping trip. For the majority of the trip, I was self-absorbed, worried about how I looked and smelled and how comfortable I was. But there was a brief moment, during that evening under the stars, when I was able to look outside myself and realize that there is so much more to living in this miraculously beautiful world than what I was experiencing.
That night, I learned to look up when I wanted to stop thinking about myself, and that’s proven to be a pretty effective antidote to pride. As the famed Christian writer C. S. Lewis explained: “In God you come up against something which is in every respect immeasurably superior to yourself. … As long as you are proud you cannot know God. A proud man is always looking down on things and people: and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you.”3
That trip didn’t change my mind about camping—it’s still not my thing. But I’m grateful that I learned an important lesson about “walk[ing] humbly” (Doctrine and Covenants 11:12) that night, because it taught me something that I not only needed on that trip but will need for the rest of my life. It’s normal to struggle with pride—it’s an inherent part of our mortal experience. But acknowledging it in ourselves and working to overcome it by seeking humility can bring us closer to Christ and help us live happier lives.

Pat met Jeffrey Holland between her junior and senior year at high school. With a twinkle in her eye, she expressed much more of that sweet relationship than was spoken. “And that continues to be the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she said enthusiastically. “He continually amazes me, and it’s a wonderful privilege and blessing to be his wife.” Feeling the joy and happiness that she was expressing made it difficult to realize that she had ever had youthful feelings of discouragement or fear.
Speaking of their early friendship, she recalled that when he left for his mission, they so wanted to have a “forever kind of love.” Together they decided that they would do three things that would unite them even in his absence: (1) Read the scriptures every day. (2) Fast once a week. (3) Pray really often. “These have become habits that we have continued to this day,” she said humbly and gratefully, thinking of the far-reaching rewards of that early decision that kept them close while they were far away.

For many years I had a problem with a certain word—no. I couldn’t say it. Whenever anybody needed me for something—anything—I was there. And although I enjoy helping others, I’ve occasionally missed out on what seemed to be significant opportunities for my personal growth because I simply couldn’t say that one word. But one summer, what seemed to be one of my biggest mental impairments turned out to be the greatest blessing of my life.
I had recently graduated from high school and planned to attend college away from home the coming fall. It would be my first time living away from family, and I was excited for the new experience. I had a well-paying job at a local grocery store, a brand new car, and I was saving a lot of money. My life was in order.
One afternoon I approached my supervisor to tell her that I needed to transfer to a store closer to where I’d be attending college. But before I could get the words out she was telling me about a position opening the following week that she wanted me to fill.
It would have been easy for me to say no. I was starting college in a month, and there were several other capable people who could do the job. But I didn’t; I couldn’t.
I felt frustrated. Like most teenagers, all I wanted was to move away and enjoy college life. But suddenly I found myself staying home and postponing college—because I couldn’t say no to a supervisor.
I began my new duties, and, after a short time, settled into the new routine. As part of my responsibilities, I supervised a small group of people, including two high school students, Chris and Randa. After working with them for a while, I decided I liked Randa and asked her on a date. One of my co-workers found out about it and said, “You know she’s Mormon, right?”
Yes, I knew she was Mormon, but that meant little to me. At the time I was slightly misguided, thinking Mormons didn’t use electricity and drove horse-drawn buggies.
As for myself, I had no religion. My parents grew up in different faiths, but neither practiced into adulthood. I was raised in a loving home, but spirituality was not part of my upbringing. However, I had always been interested in religion. In high school I had friends whom I would often ask about God, Jesus Christ, and religious principles and values. A faith-filled life was something I had always wanted, but something seemed to hold me back.
Randa and her family regularly asked me to listen to missionary lessons, but I kept putting it off. It seemed too mysterious.
Randa eventually moved out of state to attend college, and we continued our relationship long-distance. One day she called and said, “I was just talking to my mom, and she said she wants you to listen to the missionaries.” This I knew, of course. But this time it was different.
Randa’s parents hadn’t wanted us to date because I wasn’t a Church member, but Randa’s mother said if I would take time to learn about the Church they’d accept our relationship. So I agreed.
The first few discussions were useless for me because I was simply going through the motions to get on the parents’ good side. I didn’t read the Book of Mormon or pray and was somewhat antagonistic toward the elders.
But the third discussion brought a change. I decided to read from the Book of Mormon, not so much for myself, but because I didn’t want to disappoint the missionaries again. Something surprising happened—I liked it.
In the next lesson I learned about the plan of salvation, the Word of Wisdom, the law of chastity, and how families can be forever. The principles being taught were ones I had always believed. Some religions teach that we shouldn’t drink alcohol or have sexual relations before marriage, but they do nothing to back it up. Some religions teach that when we die we will be angels in heaven and servants to God but have no recollection of our experiences and associations on earth. I couldn’t accept that. But here was a church that backed up what it taught. Here was a church teaching the same core values and beliefs I had always held.
Our next meeting was the clincher. Rather than teach a lesson, the missionaries showed On the Way Home, a film relating a story of a family who had a daughter die in an accident and later found peace through the knowledge that their family could be together forever through the gospel of Jesus Christ.
As I watched the movie I felt as if my entire body were being filled with some unknown power—some sort of light, peace, and bliss—and I started to cry. I thought, “This is a Church movie; what are you doing?” It was then I knew what I needed to do.
I was baptized August 20, 1998. I met with the missionaries because I wanted to please my girlfriend’s mother. I was baptized because I wanted to please my Heavenly Father and my Savior.
I have come to learn that the Lord knows us much better than we know ourselves. Throughout my younger years the Lord blessed me with desires for righteousness, though I wasn’t born a believer. Instilled within every human soul is the Light of Christ, “which lighteth every man that cometh into the world” (John 1:9).
If we listen to the quiet voice inside that prompts us along the road of righteousness, we will be led to a life of happiness now and throughout eternity. We won’t always know why we are making certain choices, and that’s OK. We just need to obey.
I once had an idiosyncrasy that constrained me from saying no to people who needed me. It was annoying. Though I wanted to attend college (and eventually did), what if I had said no to my supervisor the day she asked me to fill a new position at work?
Sometimes what we see as our greatest impairments may actually be our greatest blessings. It was for me.

Three young women now serving missions in Australia all have something in common. They originally grew up on islands in the Indian Ocean and were converted to the Church by friends.
Soon Lee Lim was born and raised on Christmas Island. She and her family moved to Perth, Australia, where she joined the Church and introduced it to her friend Chong Kheng Lin. Soon Lee was called to the Brisbane Mission to serve as a full-time missionary.
Chong Kheng Lin was also from Christmas Island. She and her family also settled in Perth, Australia. She attended the baptism of Soon Lee and was impressed by the Spirit and the information communicated by the missionaries. She investigated and joined the Church. Lin is serving a full-time mission in the Melbourne Australia Mission.
Maria Rogatienne Augusoa Houareau was born on the Seychelles Islands. She was introduced to the gospel by a friend, and she and two sisters were baptized. Maria is now serving a full-time mission in Melbourne, Australia.

At the end of eighth grade, I was having a really hard time. It seemed like nothing was going my way.
I never saw my mom. She worked a night shift and took care of my aunt who was dying of cancer. My dad had died a year earlier. I felt very lost and alone, like I had no friends or family to comfort me. At school I was quiet and didn’t open up much. I quit hanging out with my friends. At the time, I didn’t think I was acting that differently. I tried to be myself and be as happy as I could. Now I look back and realize I was feeling down and falling even further.
A friend who I had just started hanging out with had a very strong testimony. She was in one of my classes, and one day, out of nowhere, she handed me a letter. In it, she described her hardships and expressed her testimony, which was one of the strongest testimonies I had ever read.
At the end of the letter there was the scripture, John 14:18: “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.”
I felt as though God was telling me through my friend that I was not alone, even though I felt as though I had no friends or family. Now I know I will never be alone because I can go to my Heavenly Father through prayer. He will always be there.

As the only Latter-day Saint sixth grader in my school, I am faced with vulgar language, immodesty, and pressure to follow the crowd. But at the start of the year, I explained to my friends my standards and that I stick to them no matter what. They have learned through the months about my Church values. Your friends will help you if you explain your values and your standards to them. My friends’ attitudes, clothing, and language have changed for the better. I have learned that if they are truly your friends, they will help you think clean thoughts and will help you stay on the strait and narrow path.
Celia N., age 12, Virginia, USA

After five years at the school, Skaidr?te went to work in a clothing factory. She was a good seamstress, skilled but not fast. Others laughed at her and said she was avoiding work. Because she was slow, she wasn’t paid much. She became discouraged. She even contemplated suicide.
Then a new factory opened and Skaidr?te moved there. This factory emphasized quality rather than speed, and because her skill was apparent, Skaidr?te was selected to oversee the other seamstresses. It was a perfect situation.

I always looked forward to Primary activity day because it meant exciting activities, great games, and tasty treats. Sometimes the activities were serious and spiritual, and I liked those, too, because I learned so much. But of all the great activities I went to, I remember one more than any other.
At 10:00 on the dot that Saturday, I showed up at church, along with the rest of the Primary-age children in my ward. After an opening prayer, a song, and a few instructions, we split into groups. I followed my group into a classroom and was surprised to find a large piece of green-and-white-checked fabric and a piece of solid green fabric, with a layer of fluffy stuff in between. It was all stretched out and tacked to some boards. Nearby were yarn and big needles. “A quilt,” I thought. “Who would be tying a quilt right in the middle of our Primary activity?”
“We are all going to help tie this quilt for someone in the ward who isn’t feeling well,” one of our Primary leaders explained. “After it’s finished, we’ll give it to her.”
“What a great idea!” I thought. When I’m having a hard time, I enjoy wrapping up in a nice warm blanket. But I wondered how well it would turn out since I had never tied a quilt and was pretty sure the rest of the Primary hadn’t either.
Then the Primary president announced who would receive the quilt—my own lucky mom! I was even more excited to try my hardest so the quilt would look nice.
My mom had been very ill all month. In fact, Grandma had to stay with us for a while because Mom was so sick she couldn’t take care of us. She had to be released from her Primary calling, too. Even though Mom’s illness wasn’t easy for our family, something good was going to happen. I would have a baby brother!
With the help of our leaders, we set to work. Even though I wondered if we could really do it, we tied that quilt. Everyone made a stitch or two. Then we each wrote a message, signed our name, or drew a picture in a book that went along with the quilt. I knew what we were doing would mean a lot to Mom because she told me how much she loved and missed all the children in Primary. And the person who bought the fabric must have been inspired, because green is Mom’s favorite color.
Tying the quilt wasn’t hard, but keeping quiet about it sure was. A few weeks later, the secret was finally revealed. On a sunny Sunday morning during singing time, we all walked a block from the church and around the corner to my backyard. We sat on the lawn and waited while one of our leaders knocked on the door.
You can probably guess that when Mom stepped outside and saw all the children gathered, she cried. She cried even more when we sang some of our favorite Primary songs in our best voices. Then the Primary president presented the finished quilt and the book of messages.
“Your singing was beautiful,” Mom said through her tears. “This is one of the nicest things that has ever happened to me.” I knew she meant it. She smiled and cried some more and said that she was going to go inside, wrap up in the quilt, and read every message we had written.
Mom still has that quilt, and I know she always will. It has a few extra-long loops of yarn on the back where some of the stitches weren’t pulled all the way through. Mom says that makes it even more special. To this day, when someone in the family is sick or has a bad day, nothing makes us feel better than wrapping up in the memories and warmth of what we affectionately call the “Primary quilt.”

It is instructive that the second Latter-day Saint connection with the Titanic did not have a happy mortal ending. Irene Corbett was 30 years old. She was a young wife and mother from Provo, Utah. She had significant talents as an artist and musician; she was also a teacher and a nurse. At the urging of medical professionals in Provo, she attended a six-month course of study on midwife skills in London. It was her great desire to make a difference in the world. She was careful, thoughtful, prayerful, and valiant. One of the reasons she chose the Titanic to return to the United States was because she thought the missionaries would be traveling with her and that this would provide additional safety. Irene was one of the few women who did not survive this terrible tragedy. Most of the women and children were placed in the lifeboats and were ultimately rescued. There were not enough lifeboats for everyone. But it is believed that she did not get in the lifeboats because, with her special training, she was attending to the needs of the numerous passengers who were injured from the iceberg collision.

The lost opportunity might relate to family, occupation, talents, experiences, or others. All of these were cut short in the case of Sister Corbett. There were songs she did not sing and potential she did not fulfill in this mortal life. But when we look through the wide and clear lens of the gospel instead of the limited lens of mere mortal existence, we know of the great eternal reward promised by a loving Father in His plan. As the Apostle Paul taught, “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.” A line from a beloved hymn provides comfort, solace, and the clear lens: “And Jesus listening can hear the songs I cannot sing.”

Years later, he and his brother and two sisters packed a wagon full of vegetables, bottled fruit, flour, pots and pans, and clothing and moved to Salt Lake City to attend the University of Utah.
Mother: Good luck! We’re so proud of you all.
David: Thank you, Mother. We’ll write often.
David made time for both studying and having fun. He joined the university’s first football team.
Coach: Nice play, McKay!
He ran for class president.
Student: Congratulations, David! You won the election.
And when he graduated, he was the valedictorian—an award given to the person with the highest grades.
School president: Congratulations, David. You’ve worked hard.
David: Thank you.

It was the kind of Saturday that makes me appreciate the warm coziness of staying in bed. But this luxury was not to be. The annoying sound of my pager alerted me to a fire at a nearby cement plant, so I threw on my equipment and headed for the door, thankful my helmet would cover my messy hair. Vanity had taken a backseat ever since I joined our small town’s fire department and then became an emergency medical technician (EMT).
The cement plant fire was soon contained. But our pagers went off again, this time asking for EMTs to respond to a freeway injury accident involving a four-year-old boy. I knew this would be difficult, so my partner and I immediately began to pray. No EMT can truthfully say he or she is not affected when caring for seriously injured children.
We arrived to find a white van upside down in the median. I quickly looked around for our patient, thinking perhaps he was still in the vehicle. But I was called to the opposite side of the freeway where several people were huddled over the small form of a child. One man was a doctor. He gave me a rundown of the boy’s most serious injuries, then disappeared into the crowd. A woman was holding the child’s hand and reassuring him. I asked if she knew his name. “His name is Ryan,” she said. “I am his mother.” Remarkably, she and two older children were unhurt.
EMTs follow certain protocols to ensure the best care for our patients, but none of these procedures can prepare us for the human suffering we must deal with when responding to horrifying accidents. I remember reviewing my training in my mind but also feeling overwhelmed. My little patient was crying, and I wanted to calm his fears, kiss his hurts away, and promise his frightened mother that he would be all right. My hands went through the routines I knew so well, but I felt so inadequate, so alone. My partner was not able to assist me with Ryan because he was caring for the little boy’s father, who was still trapped in the van.
Ambulances soon arrived. I was assigned to stabilize Ryan’s head on the way to the hospital. I knelt above his head and spoke softly to him, but he continued to cry and thrash about. I worried that he might injure himself further, but restraining him would have caused other problems.
At this point my prayers became more fervent, and I asked Heavenly Father to bless me to know how to comfort and calm Ryan and ease his pain. I immediately received an impression: “Sing to him.” I hesitated. I questioned whether I had understood correctly. After all, I was a professional, and what would it look like to have an EMT singing in an ambulance over a critically injured patient?
Ryan cried out, and again I received the distinct impression: “Sing to him.” As I held his head I quietly leaned close to his ear and started singing, “I am like a star shining brightly, Smiling for the whole world to see” (“I Am like a Star,” Children’s Songbook, 163). As I sang, Ryan became quiet. I sang “I Am a Child of God” and many other Primary songs. I realized Ryan was a Latter-day Saint when I noticed his very distraught mother trying to sing with me. More than once the paramedics became concerned because he was too quiet, but Ryan would respond as asked. I continued singing all the way to the hospital and into the emergency room, where the trauma team took over his care.
Later that day I returned to the hospital to check on Ryan and his father. I learned that Ryan had undergone surgery and was now stabilized and doing well. Even though he and his father would require a lengthy hospital stay to recover, I was grateful for the news. Ryan and I soon became good friends, and I still look forward each year to receiving a Christmas card with Ryan’s picture inside.
I will always remember an answered prayer when my little patient quieted instantly in response to songs he loved, songs that reminded him of how much his Heavenly Father loves him. The effectiveness of emergency medicine is truly a marvel, but the beauty and simplicity of a few Primary songs will forever remain in my memory as a gentle and profound miracle.

One day my missionary companion and I received a phone call from a ward mission leader. He told me there was a woman who was dying and wanted the elders to give her a blessing. I immediately felt uncomfortable but said we would do it. As I hung up the phone, I couldn’t help but think, Bless someone who is dying? What kind of blessing do you give to someone who is about to die?
Before we left I knelt down and prayed. I asked Heavenly Father to help me exercise my priesthood.
We met the ward mission leader outside the house where the woman was staying. He told us they hadn’t expected her to live through the previous night.
The mother led us to the room where her daughter was. She knocked on the door and said, “Honey, the elders are here to give you a blessing.” As she opened the door, I caught my first glimpse of the woman.
My heart ached as I saw her lying on the bed. She was a woman in her mid-40s and completely bald due to medical treatment. She slowly opened her eyes, and I smiled as kindly as I could.
It was decided that my companion would anoint her and I would seal the anointing.
My mind raced as I tried to think of what to say, but nothing seemed right. My companion finished, and I looked at her, so frail looking, so weak. What am I going to do? I thought. Just bless her was the reply to my silent question.
I felt a great calm come over me as I laid my hands upon her head. I called her by name, stated my authority, and paused. Then the Spirit took over. Words flowed to my mind as I blessed her. Where was all this coming from? It was amazing. Never before had I given a blessing like this.
I closed in the name of Jesus Christ, took my hands off her head, and wiped my eyes. I had started crying almost as soon as I had begun. She took my hand in hers and whispered, “Thank you.”
“Thank you” was all I could say in return. Everyone in the room was crying. The mother said, “You can feel the Spirit so strongly.” The woman’s sister took me aside and said, “Thank you. She has been so scared. That was exactly what she needed to hear.” As I left I thought about what had happened. I should have remembered that blessings don’t come from men. They come from God through men. That blessing was exactly what she needed to hear because Heavenly Father knew what she needed.

At age 15, Michael M. found his first job. A local cafeteria was the only place around hiring people his age. Most job duties revolved around dishes: busing tables, loading the dishwasher, and so forth. Employees would read their task for the day when they showed up for work.
“If it was busing tables, we’d rejoice,” Michael says. “But the worst thing, what you didn’t want to get, was pots.”
Picture a medieval knight poised in battle armor, sword in hand, ready to battle an angry dragon. Now replace the armor with a full-body rubber apron, the sword with a high-pressure sprayer, and the dragon with a greasy, scorched-bottom pot.
That was pots.
The black rubber apron was heavy and hot. The water was even hotter. And the high-powered spray from the hose practically guaranteed a drenching even with the rubber apron and hat. “It was a hot, dirty, stinky job,” Michael says about pots. “We all hated it.”
A lot of teenagers couldn’t cut it. They’d hire on and then bail within weeks. However, Michael and a friend made an agreement with each other to stick it out an entire summer, and they both did.
For Michael, the experience he gained from that job far outweighed the downsides. “That first job, as awful as it was, made me appreciate the easier jobs I had later.”
After saying good-bye to the cafeteria, Michael worked at a fast-food restaurant, then at a grocery store, and next at a movie theater concessions stand. At each job he had a positive attitude toward the work because of what he’d learned from his first job. “You learn lessons at your first job,” Michael says. “Something good can come out of every job experience.”

At seven o’clock on the dot my doorbell rang and there was Ernie*. He greeted my parents pleasantly and promised my dad he would have me home by curfew. When we reached the car, he opened my door for me and introduced me to the couple sitting in the backseat.
I was surprised when Ernie Phillips, a shy young man in my ward, had asked me out. His request sounded like something from a dating etiquette book written 50 years ago, and now it looked like our date was going to follow the same stiff pattern.
As we drove, I reflected on our brief phone conversation from a week before: “Danielle, this is Ernie Phillips,” he had said nervously. Before I could respond, he hurried on, “I’d like to take you on a date this Friday night. We will be going bowling and then out to dinner with another couple. I could pick you up at seven. Would that be all right?” He spoke quickly, as if reading from a script he’d prepared.
“That would be fine,” I answered.
“Then I’ll see you at seven o’clock, Friday. Good-bye.”
Although Ernie and I went to school and church together, he was so reserved that we’d never spoken more than a few words to each other. I knew he had recently turned 16, but I couldn’t imagine why he would want me to be his first date.
For one thing, we didn’t have much in common. We hung out in different groups and participated in different activities. What would we have to talk about for an entire evening?
I was more than a little surprised when I found myself genuinely enjoying being with Ernie and the other couple. By the time Ernie dropped me off (well before curfew, of course), I could look back on a fun evening and appreciate the advantages to Ernie’s by-the-book style of dating.
Ordinarily, I spent the weekends just hanging out with my friends. I never knew who might be there or what the activity would be. It was hard to tell my parents what time I’d be back, because we never had set plans. But with Ernie, I wasn’t left guessing. I had thought his method of asking me out was old-fashioned, but I found I really appreciated knowing what we would be doing so I could plan accordingly. I liked the fact that he opened doors for me, made sure I was comfortable during our activity, and got me home on time. It made me feel special and appreciated.
Because Ernie planned our date in advance, I knew there wouldn’t be anything going on that would violate my standards. Sometimes I couldn’t be so sure of that when my friends called me to hang out.
I also realized that in a date setting, I was able to get to know Ernie a lot better than if we had just been hanging out with a bunch of other people. I saw qualities in him I had never noticed before. By the end of our date, I knew a lot more about Ernie than I knew about other guys I had hung out with several times.
Finally, I liked how being with Ernie made me think about more than if I was having fun or not. I tried to be especially thoughtful so he wouldn’t regret having asked me out. I asked him about his interests and tried hard to listen. I thanked him for the fun evening and for being a gentleman.
Even though I had expected such a “formal” date to be a boring way to spend my Friday night, I came home grateful for the lessons I learned from Ernie. There is safety and certainty in having a plan and sticking to it. There are benefits to spending an evening with a small group of people and getting to know them well. And most importantly, I was grateful that I got to spend time with an upstanding young man who had the courage to ask me for a date.

I chose to arrange the next two family home evenings, focusing on faith. I started off by preparing the lessons and trying to learn the chords on the guitar for the songs we would sing.
The first lesson was on faith. I asked what we as a family could change to grow our faith. They replied, “Praying, studying scriptures, fasting, going to church,” and so on. We agreed that there are many things you can do to grow your faith, but the most important thing is to actually do them. It’s important that you act in order to strengthen your faith.
The second lesson was on spiritual gifts. We talked about what faith and spiritual gifts had to do with each other.
Our faith-themed family home evenings went really well. We improved some things in our family; we had fun and tried not to just get it over with. We felt the Spirit together as a family.
Riza S., 16, Roskilde, Denmark

Last year marked the Oregon Trail’s 150th anniversary, and to celebrate, young women from the Unity First Ward, Burley Idaho Stake, decided to try a four-day, authentic pioneer trek along the trail that runs close to their homes.
They donned pioneer skirts and bonnets and ditched modern conveniences like makeup for the 32-mile trek. They camped out, pressed their own fresh cider, made “johnny cakes,” and listened to numerous stories about pioneer experiences along the way. Every night two girls kept watch over the horses, camp, and fire.
On the last day, as they tromped into Oakley, Idaho, they noticed a man standing on the balcony of one of the original pioneer homes. As they got closer, they realized it was Elder David B. Haight. He greeted the tired group and invited them into his ancestral home, recounting the history of the area, and bearing his testimony that “the gospel is the hope of the world.” By the time the trek was through, the young women had learned more about hope than they’d ever dreamed.

I was supposed to wake up, hop in the shower, get dressed, and then head to seminary. That’s how it always went, anyways.
But this morning, my routine was interrupted by my mom coming in to tell me that one of my soccer teammates had died in a car accident the night before. I was stunned. My teammate was gone?
Only a few weeks after the death of my teammate, one of my close friends took their own life.
I attended two funerals that month—my first encounters with death.
In a lot of ways, my friends’ deaths didn’t seem real, and they had a big impact on my testimony. As time went on, I found myself wondering again and again if what I had been taught all my life about resurrection and the plan of salvation was true. And although I might have tried to say the words, I wasn’t sure if I really believed that I would see my friends again someday.
But I hoped that I would.
I thought of my two encounters with death while I was studying 2 Nephi 9:21–22, which talks about the Savior, saying, “He suffereth the pains of all men, yea, the pains of every living creature, both men, women, and children … that the resurrection might pass upon all men.”
I really wanted the plan of salvation to be real. I wanted to believe that Jesus Christ had overcome death and that because of Him we would all be resurrected. So, I acted according to that hope. I did my best to believe, even if I wasn’t completely sure.
Then came my third encounter with death.
A few years later, my family and I drove across the country to visit my grandparents. My grandpa had been battling cancer for several years, and the chemotherapy treatments were taking a significant toll on him. It was painful to watch him struggle.
At the end of our trip, we woke up early to start on the long drive home. We all hugged our grandpa goodbye, and the realization began to hit us that this would likely be our last goodbye. He asked if he could pray for us, which we gratefully accepted. Then we left.
A few weeks later, he passed away.
At his viewing, my grandmother reminded all of her children and grandchildren of how much our grandfather had loved us and how grateful she was for the plan of salvation. As I looked down at my grandfather’s body, his spirit now gone, I didn’t want this to be last time I saw him.
Suddenly, I felt that this wasn’t the end. My grandfather was dead, but he wasn’t gone. I felt the Spirit testify to me that Heavenly Father’s plan for us is real.
I felt in my heart the words of Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles regarding the plan of salvation: “The Father’s design, His plan, His purpose, His intent, His wish, and His hope are all to heal you, all to give you peace, all to bring you, and those you love, home.”
Death, though painful, is part of God’s plan for us. But we can trust in the Savior, who died that we all might live again. This is the amazing promise of Easter. Knowing this doesn’t always make the pain of losing my loved ones go away. But now I have hope and peace that I, and everyone I love, will be resurrected and that if we are sealed in the temple and keep our covenants, we can live together again (see Doctrine and Covenants 88:14–17, 27–31; 132:15–21).
This Easter, learn about the truthfulness of Jesus Christ’s Atonement, the Resurrection, and everything joyful that’s encompassed in the plan of salvation. Choose to believe. Know that because of Christ’s sacrifice and perfect love for us, death is not the end.
It’s OK if all you can do now is have faith that the plan of salvation is true. As you continue to live the gospel and to hope, your hope, like mine, can also blossom into a testimony.

Last year was different for me with ballet because I struggled with some medical challenges. It was really dangerous for me to be dancing because my heart was weak. I needed to rest and recover.
That time was very discouraging. Not only could I not dance, but I was advised to stay away from any physical movement in general, including stretching, strength training, or even walking more than was absolutely necessary. As a dancer, taking a break seemed impossible. Even if I take a break for one week, I return feeling really tight. I couldn’t imagine taking more than a month off.
I was hopeful I would be back to dancing when the new school year came around in the fall. But when it came, I was still healing. In September, after praying a lot, I made the very scary decision to go to a clinic to help with my health.
I also started attending seminary. It was a great way to start my day, immersed in the gospel. I had never had good scripture study habits. Having that hour set aside each day to just dive into the scriptures helped me build a much stronger relationship with God.
Before my medical challenges, I had spent so much time dancing that a lot of my identity was wrapped up in it. Not having it to fall back on during this hard time left me feeling lost and like a piece of me was missing. But I noticed the more I went to seminary, read my scriptures, and surrounded myself with other youth doing the same, the more I started to strengthen my identity as a child of God. After feeling lost for so long, this really helped me find hope and meaning.
One concept that continued to come up during my seminary class helped me a lot. This concept was how Christ strengthens us during our trials. Each class, my seminary teacher encouraged us to write sticky notes about something that “stuck with us.” Looking back, all of my sticky notes focused on Christ being there for me and blessing me in my trials. It felt like I was receiving a daily reminder that Christ was there to help me.
After six long months, I was finally medically cleared to return to dance. At first, I was really nervous because I felt like I had lost all my strength. I kept working, praying, going to church, and hoping that if I tried my best, the Savior would help me. When I returned, although I wasn’t as strong as I used to be, my teacher complimented my strength. She said she was proud of me and my progress.
Even though I struggled a lot, I am thankful my medical challenges gave me the chance to strengthen my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and find my identity as a child of God.
To anyone going through something hard, know that you always have people around you supporting you, whether or not you can see them. You are a child of God. Even though we can’t see Jesus Christ or Heavenly Father, They are watching over us and protecting us. Heavenly Father has a plan for us. Sometimes you might not experience what you want, but your trials can help you get stronger.
I have a testimony that if we pray and establish a relationship with God, He’ll be there to guide us, help us, and strengthen us.
Ellie J., age 15, Oregon, USA
Loves ballet, hanging out with family and friends, and doing service.